Too Much Information
by dantesdarkqueen
Summary: If there's one thing to cause the champions of Chaos untold grief, it's their access to cyberspace...
1. Too Much Information

**Summary: **If there's one thing to cause the champions of Chaos untold grief, it's their access to cyberspace...

**Disclaimer: **Yeah, I _wish_ I owned it... Maybe then I wouldn't be up to my neck in tuition-debt!

**Queen's Quornor: **So I finally jumped on the Dissidia fanfic wagon. Well, the thing has only left my PSP once since I bought it on the day it was released! Sooner or later, I should have known the muses would be intrigued! So here I am, taking a break from both original writing and FFVII fanfics to foray into this section. This might turn into another drabble fic, if I can think of enough topics.

Too Much Information

Information was a crucial factor in the many skirmishes between the factions of Cosmos and Chaos. Both sides relied on their collective knowledge of the opposition to turn a potential draw into a victory, and they preferred to know when something about the other side had changed _before _they engaged in battle.

This was an area in which Chaos' minions were far superior. The heroes of Cosmos had long realized that their enemies were always aware of their locations and alliances, even their personal conflicts and resolutions, but they had no idea how they accumulated the knowledge. It seemed as if they found out almost the second it happened, and efforts to tip the balance through sorcerous means were always countered by the many shields surrounding their foes. Thus the heroes were left utterly confused as to the means by which the enemy was able to monitor their every move, word, and thought.

The reason, simply put, was that most of the would-be heroes looked to the distant, idealized future, one in which nothing ever seemed to change. The minions of Chaos enjoyed a vision with far more technology to oversee their empires.

Somebody had created a computer during one of the world's previous cycles, and ever since the glowing terminal had been a fixture within their stronghold. All of them had access to it, albeit on a first-come basis, and with the computer they kept tabs on Cosmos' chosen.

The computer also gave them a glimpse of the world's past state; in another cycle, somebody had tapped into a program known as "the Internet".

The Internet was always changing, which led them to believe that it was connected to other worlds far removed from their shattered, piecemeal locale. When they were not preoccupied with their multilayered schemes and petty vendettas, the mighty minions of Chaos liked to browse.

Today the Emperor had gotten to the computer before his many counterparts. After monitoring Firion's movements for a time, he had gotten online and sifted through a few of his usual destinations. Now boredom consumed him. He didn't want to relinquish the terminal yet. A ruler did not deign to abandon a position of power unless he deemed it necessary and decided he was good and ready. Bored as he was, Emperor Mateus saw no reason to allow one of his peers use of the computer just yet.

"I wonder if there is anything on here about _me_," he murmured, typing his name into the search bar.

* * *

The Old Chaos Shrine was rocked by a scream of rage. Curious and somewhat alarmed at the sudden noise, the other nine occupants of the shrine made their way to the computer, where the scream had originated. There they discovered the Emperor, who had taken to muttering dire curses at the monitor.

"Something troubles you, Emperor?" Ultimecia asked, slinking forward to peer over his shoulder.

"We are being spied upon," he bit out.

Instantly the others began looking around, readying spells and weapons as they searched for prying eyes. "Cosmos had learned of this computer?" Exdeath rumbled.

"Are her chickens taking on the role of hawks now?" Kuja inquired, spellfire flaring between his fingertips.

"They are not the ones watching us," Mateus told them. "People from other realms know our movements, and our histories."

The tension in the room melted away, replaced by consternation. "How is that possible?" Kefka whined. "We're all alone out here!"

"Isolated, not alone." The Cloud of Darkness flicked an annoyed glare at the clown, idly petting her ever-present serpents.

"More importantly, how is this so infuriating to you, Emperor?" Golbez asked. "The enemy can't use the Internet. The knowledge of people from other worlds concerning us is of little consequence."

"They are using the knowledge to mock us!" Emperor Mateus pointed to the monitor with a condemning finger. "We have nicknames, for one thing."

The others crowded around the Emperor. "Ulti-bitcha!" Ultimecia gasped. "I am not a bitch!"

"My attire does not make me a woman!" Kuja growled.

"'Tall, dark, and girly'?" Sephiroth gritted.

"At least yours is somewhat flattering! Look at mine! 'Old pirate', my ass!" Jecht roared.

"I like yours, Emperor Goldenrod!" Kefka cackled.

The clown folded with an agonized wheeze as a gilded staff slammed into his solar plexis, completely ignored by the other villains.

"We are more concerned by this." The Cloud of Darkness pointed to a section on the webpage labelled "pairings".

"I haven't looked at that yet," the Emperor admitted.

"These other people are pairing us romantically?" Golbez asked, shock evident in his tone.

"Perhaps it refers to alliances," Ultimecia hoped, crossing her fingers.

The link was clicked, and a unanimous outcry arose.

"No pictures!" Garland howled. "Turn the gallery off!"

"Eh, what exactly are you doing with her tentacles?" Kefka asked the shocked sorceress, who was gaping at an artistic rendition of herself and the Cloud of Darkness.

"I'd never do that with my kid!" Jecht yelled.

Kuja and Sephiroth went noticeably pale and put the rest of the group between themselves, unable to look at each other.

"Us? Together?" Mateus considered Ultimecia, then shivered.

"Perhaps you would prefer Terra?" Exdeath asked Kuja, a teasing edge to his deep voice.

"Why don't I get anybody?" Kefka whined. "I wanna have fun, too!"

"They seem to think the Cloud of Darkness is willing to comply," Garland told him, smiling.

"We would never engage in such endeavors!" she hissed.

The Emperor scrolled down idly, prompting a gasp from Kuja. "Who drew me with Zidane?! I'll discover them and direct them to fantastic death scene!"

"I didn't know you had a tail," Kefka mumbled, peering at the wizard's backside. "That's a very interesting use for it, though!"

He shrank back as Kuja turned enraged purple eyes upon him and his hand lit up with a hissing crackle. "Er, never mind."

"At least we're not the only victims." Golbez ignored a picture of himself with Cecil to indicate one of Tidus and Firion.

Jecht snorted. "As if he'd swing that way. Kid barely knows what balls are, let alone how to use 'em!"

"Terra seems fairly popular," Sephiroth noted, examining one of the girl ravishing him with obvious gusto. "She is not well-endowed, but then again there aren't many choices for us."

"So you're not into guys?" Kefka piped up. "I mean, look at how many there are of you and Spike-O!"

The clown went sailing though a wall, and the silver-haired man dusted off his hands. The Emperor quickly scrolled past the numerous homosexual depictions of his most intimidating counterpart and laughed.

"Cosmos with Chaos? How absurd!"

In the back of the group, unseen beneath his helmet, Garland smirked...


	2. Vengeance with a Flair

**Summary: **If there's one thing to cause the champions of Chaos untold grief, it's their access to cyberspace...

**Disclaimer: **Yeah, I _wish_ I owned it... Maybe then I wouldn't be up to my neck in tuition-debt!

**Queen's Quornor:** Seph will always be my favorite silver-haired man, but I think Kuja's becoming a close second. The ending of FFIX did something that only three other games have ever managed to do: make me cry like a little bitch. I really like how dramatic the man is, and I have to admit that I really like his hips. So, since Seph already has an entire fic dedicated to him in the FFVII section (see "Evidence of Sephiroth's Humanity!") Kuja gets the first individual chapter in this fic! Also, I have decided to put a cameo appearance in this chapter, for my friend AmazonTurk. It's a reference back to the AU that our mutual buddy MysticSpiritus originally created (and has subsequently removed), in which AT's OC Kandi was paired up with Kuja (see her fic "Caged Canary"). Amazon hasn't been on here lately, so I'm hoping to maybe lure her back this way...

Vengeance with a Flair

Kuja slipped onto the computer, certain that all of his peers were sleeping. With single-minded dedication, he opened an artistic program he enjoyed playing with during his spare time and began to paint.

Since discovering the conclusion drawn by so many others concerning his sexuality and nonexistent relationship with Zidane (he wasn't even going to _acknowledge _the one they thought he had with Sephiroth!), the Silver Wizard had made it a point to refute the gross misconceptions. He had turned his leisurely doodling into a serious endeavor and now churned out gorgeous pieces of art every few days. They were posted to the same gallery as the atrocities, and Kuja reveled in the admiring comments left by captivated canaries.

The latest piece was another depiction of himself with a random female he had imagined, this time a rather well-endowed brunette with bright red streaks in her hair. He had no name for this woman, but of the women he had painted opposite himself she was his favorite. This picture showed them standing together on the Lunar Subterrane, the woman gazing tenderly at him while he combed the fingers of one hand through her lengthy tresses.

Pictures such as this garnered the best responses. His first submission, a picture depicting him laughing to the heavens, arched in glory while Zidane burned in the light of his Seraphic Star, had gotten some praise but not quite as much as the romantic ones. Any actor worth his salt knew that engaging your audience, capturing their hearts and minds through your best work, was the most effective way to make them change their opinions.

Kuja continued to paint, so absorbed that he did not hear the heavy footsteps approaching.

"That's a very good picture." The deep, smooth voice made him jump nearly out of his chair. "You are a man of many talents, it seems. I had not thought painting would hold your interest."

"Every actor needs a way to relax," Kuja snorted, twisting to face Sephiroth, who was leaning over his shoulder as he examined the screen.

"I can appreciate that. However," the older man smirked, straightening, "it appears that you are using your relaxation to prove your sexuality."

Kuja frowned. "Don't pretend you wouldn't do the same. You prefer lovely canaries and singing nightengales, not the shrieks of hawks and hapless chickens."

Sephiroth snorted. "As do you. However, people will always form their own conclusions about their idols. They will often ignore the truth because the lie is far more appealing."

"Your point?" the Silver Wizard challenged.

"No matter how many paintings you submit, there will always be somebody who prefers to envision you with Zidane, or me. Perhaps even somebody else." Sephiroth nodded to the computer. "You can change a few opinions. But you can't force everybody to accept the truth. It is futile to try."

Kuja knitted his brow. "What you say has merit..."

"But you're not going to listen," Sephiroth sighed.

"A great actor can win the hearts of any audience, and I am the greatest!" Kuja flicked his fingers at the other man dismissively and returned his attention to the computer. "You concentrate on your puppet show, and leave me to my play. These idiots will act as my script demands."

Sephiroth snorted again but departed without saying anything more. Kuja paid him no heed, concentrating on finishing his picture.

* * *

_Ur the gratest, SilverWizard001!_

_The expressions are so real, and I love the lightning effect of the moon. Very tender and erotic! Your sensual work is gorgeous!_

_I love how manly you make Kuja! He's so effen' hot!_

Kuja reveled in the praise of his audience. They adored his latest piece, and were not shy about fawning over his depicted self. They loved him! They really loved him!

Even better, a number of the artists behind the atrocities had converted to reality; the amount of romantic or sexual depictions of him with another male had gone from the vast majority to a serious minority, a welcome change indeed.

Kuja stetched and smiled, pleased the opinions were shifting in his favor.

Just as he was about to sign off, a new message appeared in his mailbox. He debated savoring the anticipation and opening it when next he claimed the computer, but finally caved and clicked on the icon.

_Ur an asshole, dumass. Kuja's such a frickin gurl, no way he'd ever fuck a bitch lik this. He's getten it up the ass from Zidan or Sefiroth, no dout!_

The world seemed to take a breath, anticipating purple armageddon. Kuja was certainly tempted; he felt his magic pulsing within his being, at his fingertips, just itching to be unleashed. But after a moment of silent outrage and the flare of an unbidden spell, the Silver Wizard calmed himself. Destroying this world, satisfying as it might be, would not punish the perpetrator of this heinous message. Whoever possessed such an erroneous view of him deserved a satisfyingly explosive demise.

The sender was an artist called HotMunkyLuvKZ, and Kuja immediately recognized the name. This person continued to post pictures of himself and Zidane, despite the advent of his coming. Most of HotMunkyLuvKZ's pieces depicted them engaging in sexual acts during Trace, and featured heavy use of their tails. Kuja always had to suppress his gag reflex if he caught sight of the other person's latest whenever he logged onto the site.

Clearly this person was not going to change his or her opinion. If the actor failed to win a critic, drastic measures were needed.

An evil smirk curled the wizard's lips as he began to write a letter to his enemy. This was no friendly correspondence, nor even a scathing retort. This letter only served as a vessel for something decidely more irrefutable than a denial and flurry of insults spelled entirely in capital letters. Kuja smiled as he sank one of his Ultima spells into the letter. The moment HotMunkyLuvKZ opened this letter, he or she would be little more than a blasted pile of smokng soot. His greatest rival in terms of proving his sexuality would be annihilated!

"Never criticize an artist's masterpiece," Kuja laughed, sending the letter on its way.


	3. Revelations in the Dark

**Summary: **If there's one thing to cause the champions of Chaos untold grief, it's their access to cyberspace...

**Disclaimer: **Yeah, I _wish_ I owned it... Maybe then I wouldn't be up to my neck in tuition-debt!

**Queen's Quornor:** I think I want to focus on one chapter that reveals something about each character. I don't know what I'll do for each one, but I've got some ideas that I might put into play. I realize that this might result in the butchering of a few characters, but satire does call for that on occasion. There are a few characters you can be assured I won't do that to, but exactly whom?

Revelations in the Dark

How did people always forget that darkness was synonymous with stealth? The Cloud of Darkness was the ultimate spy, diving from a pool of shadows into a shaded corner in an instant without so much as a whisper of sound. Her opponents never saw her coming, and their fear was the sweetest of nourishment to a creature like her. Even among the mighty minions of Chaos, she could feed.

Suitably nourished from scaring the Emperor while he bathed, the Cloud of Darkness now glided down the shadowy hall towards the computer room, intent on checking how much more powerful the Onion Pest had become since partnering with Terra.

"Oh my... That is suitable indeed."

The Cloud paused. It sounded as if Ultimecia was currently in possession of the terminal, which was not intriguing in and of itself. What held the Cloud's interest was her knowledge of the sorceress's usual schedule: Ultimecia never got online this late.

Curious, the Cloud decided to investigate. She jumped into the closest patch of darkness and emerged within the computer roon, hidden in the shadows. Thus ensconced, she proceeded to watch the sorceress of time.

Ultimecia was online - no surprise there. From where she was hiding, the Cloud could see the logo for a shopping site in the screen's upper corner. She could not see, however, what the other woman found "suitable".

"That's not large enough." There was more clicking, and Ultimecia chuckled, delighted. "That is much better! The shape is more conducive to pleasure, too. Perhaps I shall take this one instead."

Now the Cloud was beyond intrigued. Daring to rise from the shadows a bit more, she peered at the moniter as closely as she could without attracting Ultimecia's eye.

She felt her jaw go slack.

The mighty sorceress of time was browsing through a selection of objects used exclusively for sexual pleasure. The Cloud knew only a little about such toys, as she had no interest in sex beyond its ability to corrupt the innocent and pure. But she could at least recognized what the objects were used to accomplish.

Astounded, she watched Ultimecia click on what appeared to be a string of widely-spaced pearls. but no pearls were so huge; the woman holding them in the picture could only cradle a single orb in her hand, and held the string aloft via a ring slipped over her index finger. The sorceress tapped her chin, then clicked a star icon labelled "wishlist" beneath the picture.

The Cloud wanted to gag.

Her reflex to express her extreme distate was distracted by the glittering approach of lights reflected off polished armor. She darted back into the darkest corner, shocked as the Emperor swept into the room.

The sorceress did not remove her attention from the screen. "You are later than I was expecting."

"I was delayed." The Emperor went to stand behind her, tracing the fingers of his hand over the flesh of her neck. "Have you decided I am not enough satisfaction for you? I must have been a very poor conqueror indeed."

"You performed exceptionally well. But I merely want some props to keep things interesting. My powers can draw things out, though not as fully as I would prefer."

"Yes, you do seem to take a long time to reach completion," the Emperor mused. "Your powers combined with a vibrator could mean the difference between frustration and satisfaction."

"I am not the only one who shall enjoy these purchases." From her corner, the Cloud watched Ultimecia click on the wishlist icon, replacing the current webpage with a number of pictures. One was selected, and the Emperor let out a dark chuckle at the tiny collection of strings wound around a shapely model's body. The Cloud merely stared; that outfit was even more revealing than her own attire!

"Considering what you already wear beneath your robes, I shall enjoy seeing you clad in such miniscule articles."

"You prefer the tiny lingerie to full nudity?" Ultimecia asked teasingly.

"There is something far more exciting to encounters with partial clothing, something rushed and passionate. I am a conqueror; I enjoy feeling as such." One of his hands slid out of sight, and Ultimecia purred, her head falling back against his stomach.

"Shall we move this to a more secluded location?" the sorceress gasped, reaching up to twine her arms about her gilded ruler.

"Nobody else is awake," he replied, moving his other hand out of view.

The Cloud fled at this point. She emerged in her own chamber gasping and wide-eyed, shocked that she had seen such a thing. The Emperor and Ultimecia? It made sense, but never would she have thought they would turn that fictional pairing into a reality!

If that's what they used the computer for this late, after all the others had retired to bed...

"We are never using that computer after sunset again!"


	4. He Feels Pretty!

**Summary: **If there's one thing to cause the champions of Chaos untold grief, it's their access to cyberspace...

**Disclaimer: **Yeah, I _wish_ I owned it... Maybe then I wouldn't be up to my neck in tuition-debt!

**Queen's Quornor:** When I was thinking of other ways to embarrass the characters I love and hate, I decided I wanted to do something for Exdeath. But, not knowing much of anything about the older Final Fantasies (VII and IX are the only ones I've played, though a few friends have convinced me to buy XIII when it comes out), I was was coming up empty. Then I just got this image in my head of.... Well, read on and you'll see why I nearly burst out laughing in the middle of my history class.

He Feels Pretty!

Kuja had only wanted to check his online artist's account. He had not thought anybody else would be awake so late, considering that Sephiroth, the only other confirmed night owl amongst Chaos's ranks, had fought both Firion and that sanctimonious fellow, the self-proclaimed Warrior of Light. The swordsman had not admitted exhaustion, but he had hit the sack almost immediately upon his return, seven hours ago. With him asleep, Kuja had been certain that nobody else would be up.

The image filling his shocked eyes proved otherwise.

Online shopping had become very common among the villains, as none of them enjoyed the spartan accomodations originally offered by the Old Chaos Shrine. Some of them had also turned to the Internet for new clothes, because after a time no amount of washing could remove unwelcome odors and stains from underclothes and arming coats. Nobody thought twice about such things.

Normally, seeing Exdeath seated before the computer would not be cause for alarm. What had rendered Kuja speechless, however, was the bright pink dress stretched tightly over the massive suit of armor.

Kuja fled before Exdeath noticed him, suspecting that he would become intimately familiar with the Void he was always championing if his presence was felt. Leaning against the wall in his own chamber, the mighty Silver Wizard shuddered in revulsion.

"Who would have guessed that the mighty vulture of the Void would long to strut as a peacock?" He hugged himself, torn between disgust and amusement as the realization of what he had just seen sank in. Exdeath was the _last _person he would have suspected of crossdressing, not only among his immediate peers.

"I wonder if that is the only dress he owns..."

* * *

Exdeath's quarters remained nearly as sparse as everyone else's had been prior to the advent of online shopping. The only real addition was the massive wardrobe opposite the bed. Kuja wrinkled his nose; didn't the man ever remove his armor? There were no stands on which to place the individual pieces, a staple in the rooms of Garland, the Emperor, and Golbez. Even Sephiroth and Jecht had pegs and hooks from which to hang their pauldrons and shoulder-guards. Exdeath had nothing of the sort. With a mental note to remain out of olfactory distance of the massive man, Kuja went to the wardrobe and pulled it open, happy that his glowing hand did not leave any residue on the ornate handle.

The wardrobe held nothing but women's garb. Evening wear twinkled in the light from Kuja's spell, tiny skirts and miniscule tops hung titillating alongside them, and a coat of sleek black fur gleamed. A sailor-style school uniform hung from the inside of the door, obscuring the mirror mounted beside the hinges. To a one, all of the outfits were stretched almost out of shape, lending further credence to the idea of Exdeath never taking off his armor.

Opening the other door revealed a vast collection of expensive, non-magical accessories. Necklaces, pendants, and bracelets were neatly organized on special hangers. Scarves of all colors and fabrics were carefully knotted around hooked poles. Sitting on the overhead shelf were a number of faceles white busts, each bearing a different wig.

Kuja quickly closed the doors, feeling his face heat, when he caught sight of a box labelled "Lingerie".

As he turned, the Silver Wizard caught sight of a cardboard box half-hidden beneath the bed. Against his better judgement, he approached the bed and knelt to examine the contents of the box.

What he found was a stack of fashion magazines, and a smaller box filled with a variety of cosmetics. There was also a modest selection of nail polish, three half-empty bottles of perfume, and a pair of white gloves fastened at the wrist with a pearl button.

Kuja shoved the box back, hearing heavy footsteps outside the door. He killed his Light spell and teleported back to his own well-lit room, panting with the adrenaline rush of nearly getting caught.

As the rush tapered off, his flustered mind conjurned an image of Exdeath in full regalia.

He never was able to give Sephiroth and Jecht a good excuse as to why he woke them up in the middle of the night with his laughter.


	5. The Giver

**Summary: **If there's one thing to cause the champions of Chaos untold grief, it's their access to cyberspace...

**Disclaimer: **Yeah, I _wish_ I owned it... Maybe then I wouldn't be up to my neck in tuition-debt! The Emperor's nicknames, however, are definitely mine.

**Queen's Quornor:** Time to do a serious chapter, I think. Jecht does his own comedy, for the most part. Time to give him a little time in the blue spotlight, methinks.

The Giver

A rapid series of clicks echoed off the walls, and Jecht looked around to check that nobody had been attracted by the noise. It was midday, and by now most of his peers were out tending to their own agendas. He had decided to return to the shrine for a brief lunch and gotten on the computer to browse while he ate. Now he was finished, but he saw no reason to find his sort-of partner just yet. Goldenrod could manage without the Blitzball King for an hour or two.

Satisfied that he was alone, Jecht went back to his clicking. He did want to fight, but not just yet. This was a little more important.

So absorbed was he in his task, the approach of another person fell on deaf ears. Jecht was only made aware of Golbez's presence when he spoke.

"'Grain for Children'?"

The Internet was minimized a second later, leaving the two staring at a snow-capped mountain with labeled icons along the left-hand side. "What're you doing here, Tin-Top?" Jecht growled. "Aren't you supposed to be out playing with your baby brother?"

"I did not know you could be so selfless as to supply food for starving waifs." Golbez stepped away from the punch the former athlete threw at him. "I am not surprised by your shame, though."

Jecht seethed. He valued nothing so much as being tough; the last thing he wanted spread to the other villains was his donating to charities. "This is none of your damned business, so get the hell out of here."

"Why are you so bothered? Good deeds such as this are worthy of admiration, not scorn."

"Yeah, I'd _really_ get praise form His Royal Bitchiness and our reigning lord and master if they found out I was feeding hungry brats on other worlds," Jecht drawled, sarcasm dripping from every word.

Golbez hmphed. "I have no reason to share this with the others. This is your private interest, and has no effect on our war." Golbez turned to leave. "I merely wanted to share my appreciation. You may take it as you will."

Jecht gave him a flat stare. Golbez left, watched by the other man's dark eyes. Once certain that he was alone, the former athlete went back to the Internet and his anonymous donations.

He'd never been good with emotions, and he hated it when people saw him as anything more than the tough bastard he was. His soft side was something he kept tightly under wraps. Jecht sometime regretted that mindset; his own son hated him for being so hard on him when he was little, and he did feel bad about that. But that rough treatment had been the only way he knew to show that he cared, and the results of such tough love went beyond Tidus' obvious resentment. If Jecht hadn't been so rough with him, his son probably would have died permanently ages ago.

He was proud of him, though he was careful to never so much as hint at it. Still, a part of him wished he had treated Tidus differently as a kid, and websites like Grain for Children helped him soothe his guilt. His son wanted to kill him, but at least there were some kids out there who were happy because of him, the rough, tough, greatest blitzballer ever.

Jecht finished his donations and went to access a similar site. He was fairly sure that Golbez wouldn't tattle to any of the others. But if he heard anything about this from any of them, Golbez would be looking for his own blitzballs somewhere in the Rift.


	6. Game Nut

**Summary: **If there's one thing to cause the champions of Chaos untold grief, it's their access to cyberspace...

**Disclaimer: **Yeah, I _wish_ I owned it... Maybe then I wouldn't be up to my neck in tuition-debt! I also regret to inform you all that I don't own any of the franchises off which the game in this chapter is based.

**Queen's Quornor:** This chapter was a little slow in coming, mainly because I didn't have as much time to write as I would have liked. Originally it was supposed to be just two characters, but then Kuja snuck back in again. I'm not sure how he's winding up in so many of these chapters, but I do enjoy the opportunity to expand upon his character beyond what the games tell us. Just as with Sephiroth, there has to be more to Kuja than what we see. Nobody's that one-dimensional!

Game Nut

Golbez did not often use the computer. He knew Cecil well enough to guess his movements without technology, and he preferred to relax by reading the books he had purchased through the Internet. Most of his experiences with the terminal came about when he was simply walking past the room.

On this occasion, Golbez had been returning to his own chamber after leaving a rose for Firion to find in the morning. He did not want to use the computer; he merely wanted sleep. What distracted him from thoughts of Dreamland, however, was a sudden shriek of mad laughter that could only be attributed to one person.

"Dance, my pretties, dance!" Kefka howled. His voice dropped to a more dangerous growl a moment later, though a hint of mirth remained. "Oh, you think you can hurt me with that? Let's see if your precious mousey can take _this!_"

Golbez shook his head and plodded closer to the computer room, curious to learn what had the clown so animated this time. Considering the level of noise he was making, it was surprising that anybody was sleeping, as the empty corridors seemed to suggest.

Kefka shrieked again, deafening the poor thaumaturge and making him back out of the room in haste. He couldn't see much around the clown's head, only bright splashes of color and some occasional flashes.

"I think we should buy him a gag." The voice swam though the ringing in his ears, and Golbez looked to the side as Kuja approached. The Silver Wizard was clad only in a pair of silk sleep pants, and he rubbed at his reddened eyes with the air of one who has all but given up on finding sleep. "He hasn't shut up since our last meal. In fact, I believe he has only gotten louder."

Golbez frowned beneath his helmet. "Have you any idea what he is doing?"

Kuja scratched his scalp, ruffling his disheveled silver hair. "It's some sort of game. Yugimon or something like that. Players collect and trade cards online, then summon them in these special arenas that bring them to life. They fight with traps, spells, and special weapons they either collect or win. When enough experience has been gained, the card evolves into a stronger form with more options for attacks and special abilities."

"And how do you know this?" Golbez asked, feeling a smile tugging at his lips.

"That idiot tried to coerce me into playing with him. He accosted me while I was browsing one night, and forced me to listen to a barrage of pointless, childish lunacy." Kuja covered his mouth as he yawned, then scratched his lower back. "Within five minutes I knew all the rules. By the time I escaped at the hour mark, I had been informed several hundred times of his intention to destroy all of his fellow Cardmasters."

The thaumaturge heaved a sigh. "I am beginning to wonder whether there is anything that will not excite him. Among our peers Kefka is the most juvenile, even more than the children who serve Cosmos."

"Sometimes I wonder what sort of substance or inhalant he might have taken. I can't fathom another explanation for his insanity."

The duo cringed as Kefka screeched in victory, mocking something called a T-rexaur and insulting the other player's mother.

Golbez shared a pained look with the younger man, despite knowing that Kuja couldn't see his grimace. "It cannot be denied that he is possessed of extraordinary power and ability. But sometimes I do wish he would perish, if it would allow us some form of peace."

"He is like the puppy from hell," Kuja grumbled, rubbing at his eyes again. "Always energetic, always eager, always yipping and destroying everyone's property."

"Unfortunately, we cannot tie him to a post outside the Shrine."

"Pity. His inane babble would keep Cosmos' canaries from ever setting foot inside our sanctum." The Silver Wizard turned to leave, and Golbez noted with amusement that Kuja's exhaustion was also affecting his use of casual magic: his silken sleepwear was loose enough to conceal the full length, but extending from the bottom of his left pant leg was the slightly tufted end of a long silver tail. Outside of Trance, Kuja never allowed people to see his tail.

A peal of laughter distracted him, and the thaumaturge was drawn to the sight of the clown skipping towards him. "Hey there, Gloom-and-Doom! Whassamatter? Couldn't sleep?" Kefka cheerfully hailed.

Golbez sighed again. Kuja had quickened his pace, almost running in his need to get away unnoticed. Kefka either hadn't seen him or just ignored him; Golbez was the only one he was focusing on now. A snort accompanied his next exhale. Lucky him.

Kefka bounced around him, grinning like the maniac he was. "You're too uptight, you know that? It's not good for you. Leads to constipation, and a long line of snappy, overanxious egos lining up outside the privy!" He came to a stop with an echoing click of his fingers. "You need to have some fun! And I've got the perfect solution. Make you stop moping around real quick!"

"If it involves cards and summoned monsters, I'm not interested," Golbez interrupted.

The clown recoiled, stroking the air with his long fingers. Golbez hated that habit; Kefka's restless fingers reminded him of centipedes ready to strike. "The monkey-mage told you, didn't he? Aww, give it a chance! It's so much fun, trapping your opponent before ripping their precious, puny cards to pieces!" Kefka's voice had dropped an octave and his eyes shone far too brightly for comfort. "You like flashy destruction, I know you do! This game's better than you think! I mean, what else do you have to do? Dwell on your misery and past sins and wail about your baby brother? C'mon, give it a try!"

Metal scraped as the thaumaturge began edging away; everyone, from Cosmos to Chaos, knew to run for cover when Kefka was this excited. "I think I would not be able to concentrate on your instructions. It is too late for this."

"Just try it! It's fun!" Kefka pursued him, almost floating now. His power was rising in response to his mood. "Come on, Golby! I wanna play!"

"I'm too tired to play right now. Return to your game." Golbez kept his power under tight control, unwilling to antagonize the clown further.

Kefka's eyes flared and his mouth curled. "You're going to play with me, and you're going to _love _it!"

He started to rear back, his fist clenching on conjured flames, but before Golbez could move to protect himself the air was filled with falling shapes. Kefka screeched and dropped to his knees, crawling about in a frantic attempt to collect the objects. Golbez stepped back, realizing that they were cards, all colorful and labelled with the word "Yugimon" on the reverse. The busy clown paid him no attention as he retreated, preoccupied with fawning over the cards and piling them into a neat stack.

"Addicts always have one damning weakness." Golbez looked up and saw Kuja leaning against the wall, still rubbing at his red-rimmed eyes. "Tempt them with the object they adore, and they will be no concern. It's like dropping the cover over a birdcage when the canary refuses to shut up."

"That was not one of your clearer metaphors. Still, I thank you for distracting him."

"Don't expect grand speeches and moving soliloquies. A lack of sleep can ruin the greatest of actors, directors, and even wizards." Kuja's tail brushed the floor behind his heel, prompting a frown from its owner. "As for your gratitude, it was no problem. If he's looking at those cards, he's not screeching."

The thaumaturge decided not to comment on the somewhat fluffy tuft visible below the cuff of his counterpart's pants. "Where did you get the cards? I thought the game resided purely in the virtual realm."

"There is also a trading card game. Kefka tried to interest me in that as well." The Silver Wizard yawned and stretched, and Golbez watched in fascination as his tail curled around his ankle. There was something very intriguing about that silvery appendage... He shook his head quickly; he must be more tired than he had initially suspected.

In his peripheral vision, he noticed Kefka creeping down the corridor on all fours, exaggerating his movements by lifting his limbs high like a lizard on hot sand. How the crazed clown had gotten ahead of them, he had no idea. Kefka's eyes were fixed on Kuja's tail, which had unwound from his ankle and now twitched freely once more.

Before Golbez could voice a warning, Kefka pounced; his hands closed around Kuja's tail, and one held it captive while he ran the other up the length beneath the pants, against the grain.

Kuja's reaction was immediate. He jumped and whipped around with a yelp, jerking his tail out of his attacker's clutches. In the next moment his hand was clamped over Kefka's face, and Golbez had the surpress a shudder at the murderous look on the younger man's face.

"Keep your hands off my tail!" he snarled. Fire exploded beneath his palm, sending Kefka bouncing away in a smoking, wailing ball. "And don't _ever_ rub my fur the wrong way!" he added in a hiss, almost as an afterthought.

"I apologize. I didn't see him until it was too late," Golbez explained to the snapping violet eyes when they turned his way.

Instead of accusations and a potential fight, Kuja surprised him by slumping with a wide yawn. "Why must this thing draw such attention?" he grumbled, glancing back at the appendage in question. "I bet Zidane doesn't get felt up like this!"

"I can see why you keep it hidden. Such attention must be uncomfortable for you." Golbez was certainly one to talk. Having seen it in its normal state, he now had the desire to see if that tail felt as soft as it looked. But Kefka's agonized whimpers were incentive enough for him to keep his hands well away from Kuja's tail.

"I'm going to try and rest again. Leave him in misery; he deserves it for violating my person like that." The younger man stalked away towards his room, his left pant leg rippling with the movement of his thrashing tail. Golbez watched him until he vanished in the shadows, keeping his eyes on the silver tuft behind his heel. Then he shook his head and turned his attention to Kefka.

The clown had no face. Kuja's fire had melted the flesh down to the bone, leaving Kefka a total ruin above the neck. Somehow, he was still alive and conscious. He turned blind eyes upon Golbez as he approached.

The thaumaturge sighed, knowing that there was no way to heal such damage unless he snuck into Cosmos' domain and stole a potion. Kefka would likely be dead before he returned, even if he didn't run into any mannikins or heroes. The best he could do was help him fade.

Kefka only let out a choked gurgle as Golbez sank his fingertips into the clown's throat, puncturing his windpipe with the sharp tips of his gauntlet. In moments Kefka was gone, and the thaumaturge flicked his hand free of the blood. He would be back soon, as with every psuedo-death in this place. Death was no respite from the eternal cycle of battles and destruction; they were all prisoners, no matter which god claimed their allegiance.

On his way back to his room, Golbez passed the stack of Yugimon cards. He glanced at them, then picked them up and flicked through them. "A social game," he mused.

The cards rained to the floor as he let them drop. "Nobody is social here, amongst traitors, murderers, and madmen."


	7. Sneak

**Summary: **If there's one thing to cause the champions of Chaos untold grief, it's their access to cyberspace...

**Disclaimer: **Yeah, I _wish_ I owned it... Maybe then I wouldn't be up to my neck in tuition-debt!

**Queen's Quornor:** This chapter harkens back to one I wrote for "Evidence of Sephiroth's Humanity" some time ago. I realize that this particular Sephiroth is not the same possessed one from FFVII canon that I know and love, but I do think that a few things would remain unchanged. This would include his habits and vices, or rather whichever ones he would be able to indulge. Hero or villain, I doubt that this one would go away if he had access to a computer, which he does.

Sneak

The Shrine was a fortress without peer in this shattered world. Spells encircled the structure in an insidious tapestry, serving to warn its masters when intruders assaulted the grounds, draining their strength until someone could drive them away. The nine dark champions stalked the dusty corridors, all powerful and capable of horrific atrocities at a moment's notice.

But every fortress, no matter how secure, had a weakness. Regardless of how high and thick the wall or malicious the traps, entry was always possible. A skilled sapper could dig his way inside the courtyard. A window could be left unlocked, or the bars loosened. Perhaps somebody could forget to latch a door.

Zidane sauntered within the shadows cast by the crumbling columns, secure in the knowledge that his nine major worries were sleeping. It was good to be the thief, he reflected with a wide grin. Nobody else could sneak into this dark sanctuary unharmed; Bartz would have been discovered the second he tested that loose stone in the wall, and Squall would have roared in with his gunblade blazing. Zidane felt his smile grow. He was the best.

He simply could not resist a challenge. Bartz was the reason he was inside the Shrine: the two friends had been bragging about their respective abilities, and the mimic had declared himself the superior thief, since he could copy Zidane's skills and improve them. In the ensuing argument, Bartz had promised that if Zidane could steal Ultimecia's thong, he would acknowledge him as the best thief. It was definitely a stupid bet, and even stupider to accept it, but his pride was at stake here. Either he got the thong, or Bartz would never let him live it down.

This place isn't half bad, the thief reflected. It wasn't as twisted and cheerless as Kefka's Tower, and far less cliche than the World of Darkness. The Old Chaos Shrine was a place he wouldn't mind staying in, if he had to. Now where was Ultimecia's room?

He rounded a corner and dashed back into cover, seeing a faint glow illuminating the stone wall opposite a doorway. Somebody was awake.

With his hands curled tightly around the hilts of his daggers, Zidane crept closer to the room. Nobody howled in alarm, so he dared to poke his head inside.

Seated in a wooden chair with his back to him, Sephiroth seemed entranced by a glowing box of some sort. His right hand was curled over something, and every time he flexed his index finger Zidane heard a clicking sound. The supremely dangerous swordsman was oblivious to his presence, he noted with profound relief. He would be dead before he could blink, if Sephiroth realized he was there.

He knew it would be a mistake to stay, yet the glowing box intrigued him. As curious as he had ever been, the thief scampered silently up the wall to cling to the ceiling, twisting his head to watch the other man.

"Two minutes," Sephiroth murmured. The box was showing a picture of some books, the topmost one being titled _Three Kingdoms_ with a picture of misty mountains and stylized men dueling on extremely pudgy horses. A tiny arrowhead hovered atop an orange rectangle with the words "Bid" in bold letters, and above it was another rectangle full of numbers. It appeared to be an auction of some kind, and Sephiroth was going to bid two thousand gil on those books. Zidane frowned; if it was an auction, where were the other people?

He listened to Sephiroth's breathing accelerate, and wondered if the other man wasn't getting a bit _too _excited about this bid.

"You are mine!" the silver-haired swordsman crowed (if a subdued laugh could be considered crowing) and clicked his finger hard. Zidane dug his fingers even more into the tiny fissures that kept him on the ceiling, praying that Sephiroth wouldn't look up. The box flashed, prominently displaying the word "Winner!" repeatedly, and after some more clicking and picture changes Sephiroth found another set of books. "_Loveless_?" he questioned. "The name seems familiar, but I don't believe I'm interested." The arrowhead descended, and the book picture was replaced by a white backdrop with a list of numbers.

"I haven't spent that much gil!" Sephiroth growled, hunching his shoulders to bring his face closer to the illuminated side of the box. "How could I have so little in my account?"

What was he talking about? Zidane craned his neck, trying to read the words partially obscured by molten silver hair, and as he shifted his fingers for a better grip, a tiny fragment of stone slipped from the ceiling. The thief cringed as it fell, and almost lost his grip as cold metal rested alongside his neck. Sephiroth was standing now, his face smooth and his lips twisted into a cold frown. When had he moved? Zidane wondered, dazedly staring into glittering peridot eyes.

"What are you doing here, little thief?" the silken voice hissed, sending goosebumps dancing over his body. Zidane felt his tail bristle in alarm.

"I'm here to steal something." He spoke the words before he considered the consequences, and Zidane thought for sure that he was about to become a shish kabob. Sephiroth did not assuage his fears by sliding Masamune's blade along his neck, the razored tip scraping softly against his skin.

"What are you trying to steal?"

"Ultimecia's thong." As soon as it spilled out, Zidane wanted to melt into a puddle on the floor. If he got out of this alive, he was going to kill Bartz.

"You want to steal...Ultimecia's thong?" Sephiroth repeated slowly. To Zidane's astonishment, the silver-haired man's lips twitched. "Are you certain that you are not mistaking her name for Kuja's?"

The thief stared. Did he just make a joke?

"Tell me why you want to steal her underwear," Sephiroth commanded, smirking with an unmistakable twinkle in his eyes.

Zidane swallowed, even more aware of how absurd and juvenile this bet really was. "To prove to Bartz that I am the greatest thief in the world."

There was a snort, and Masamune was taken away. Zidane continued to cling to the ceiling, too scared and confused to slacken his grip. Sephiroth returned to the box and bent down, then straightened with a small chest in hand. This was opened, allowing Zidane a glimpse of various articles and accessories he had repeatedly observed adorning Sephiroth's peers. The Emperor's crown, Jecht's headband, a pair of Kuja's knee-socks... "Here we are." Sephiroth plucked a scrap of bright red silk from the chest, and it dangled limply from his thumb and forefinger as he offered it to the thief.

"What are you --"

"I have to get an income from somewhere." The silver-haired man shrugged. "They never miss these things, and I never get much from her underwear anyway. You may take these."

Zidane dropped and carefully reached for the thong, concerned by the other man's easy stance. He snatched it out of Sephiroth's hand and held it close as he ran to the opposite wall. He knew he was still within range of the man's sword, but at least Sephiroth couldn't simply reach out and grab him. "You'd just give this to me, out of the goodness of your heart?" he couldn't resist asking, albeit sarcastically.

Sephiroth replied with a real grin and a burst of laughter. "Do not mistake me for one of your naive comrades," he clarified. "It serves me no purpose to kill you. Leave and claim your laurels; I am not the one assigned to your destruction."

The thief kept his eyes on him as he edged along the wall, unwilling to turn his back on the dangerous man. "Thanks. You know, for not killing me and all."

The silver-haired swordman shrugged and returned to his seat. "Just keep one thing in mind."

"What?"

"Master thieves generally don't get caught."

* * *

"So he really just gave you the thong?"

"Yep. I thought I was dead meat, but he never even tried to fight me." Zidane looked up from his perch on the edge of the moonlit ledge, cerulean eyes glazed as he tried to fathom what Sephiroth had meant by his death serving no purpose to him personally. Weren't all of Chaos' guys out for their blood, no matter who said blood came from? It made no real sense.

Bartz sat beside him, stretching the thong between his hands. He was wearing a boyish smile that broadcast his current maturity level, too absorbed in the skimpy panties to notice his friend's distraction. "Guess he's a nicer guy than we thought he was. I always figured he'd be one to slash first and ask questions later."

"I don't know if it was kindness. Sounded more like he doesn't want me dead yet, or someone else is supposed to try and kill me." Zidane shrugged his misgivings away and turned a roguish grin upon his friend. "So anyway, I got Ultimecia's thong. Don't you have something to say to me?"

Bartz leaned back and shot the thong at the moon hanging overhead. "Sounds like you were given that thong, and didn't steal it. So I don't have to say anything."

Zidane glared at him, feeling his tail beginning to lash behind him. "Hey, I snuck into Chaos' stronghold! Even if I didn't steal the thong, getting into the Shrine should be more than enough to prove that I am the superior thief!"

"You wish, buddy." The thong landed in Bartz's lap, and he tossed them at the younger man. "You may be a great sneak, but you didn't steal a thing. No title for you."

Zidane threw the thong as far as he could, turning his glare on the silken scrap as it fell inside a crater. Bartz laid back on the stone for a quick nap, leaving his friend to stew over the earlier events. While he was busy muttering about his abilities as a thief and Bartz's sudden love of technicalities, he remembered something.

"What _was _that box, anyway?"


	8. Time of Discovery

**Summary: **If there's one thing to cause the champions of Chaos untold grief, it's their access to cyberspace...

**Disclaimer: **Yeah, I _wish_ I owned it... Maybe then I wouldn't be up to my neck in tuition-debt!

**Queen's Quornor:** I realize it's been awhile, but that pesky little thing known as "college" keeps getting in my way. So here's a new chapter, and this time I decided to focus on two characters I don't really like that much. In other words, there's no Kuja or Seph in this chapter (_laughs)_. Well, okay, not in central roles...

Time of Discovery

Ultimecia froze time and began strolling down the upside-down corridor, eager to see what unfortunate circumstance had been caught by her spell. It was a silly vice, but it appealed to the voyeur in her. She could witness any number of private pastimes, and her peers would never realize why she always counted herself as superior to them.

The time crush would not last long. It could be sustained for nearly an hour in real-time, though she usually terminated the effect after a few minutes at the most. When she wanted to spy, she would allow it to continue to its own conclusion.

On this particular circuit around the suspended Shrine, Ultimecia observed a number of events to which she alone was privy, including:

-Exdeath slipping a silky blue cocktail dress on over his armor, his helmet dusted with cosmetics where the appropriate features might be.

-The Emperor playing chess with Sephiroth and losing, badly.

-Kefka clipping his toenails and putting the yellow crescents inside a large glass jar.

-Golbez, sans armor, combing out his long white hair before a mirror mounted on the wall next to the wooden stand.

Ultimecia admired the latter for a time, enjoying the thaumaturge's muscular form. In her opinion, were Golbez and Cecil to be placed side by side for comparison, it would be impossible to decide who the prettier brother was. Mateus kept her satisfied, but she could not help the involuntary attraction to such pale perfection. How that esper girl kept her hands off Cecil was beyond Ultimecia's ken.

Continuing along the corridor, the sorceress noted a splash of light on the floor above, issuing from the computer room. Her lips curled upward; she rarely caught people using the terminal. The last time she had, it had been Kuja ranting about an indecent picture of himself and the other monkey. Eager to see who was doing what, she glided inside the doorway.

The massive horns of Garland's helmet filled her vision, almost obscuring the monitor. Ultimecia paused, a little surprised to see him sitting there; Garland was one of the people who did not often go near the computer. Her curiosity heightened, the sorceress walked to his side and peered up at the screen.

"Oh, my..."

She felt her eyes widen. Displayed on the monitor was an extremely detailed picture of herself and Squall, and beneath it a second containing herself and the Emperor. There was another full-screen window obscured behind them, but all Ultimecia could see were the tips of golden spikes. The pictures were very good, and _very _explicit.

"To think that you saw me in this way..." She shook her head and traced her fingers along the underside of his arm, smirking at the warmth of the metal. "How it must burn, knowing that I spend my nights with the Emperor and not you. Is this the only outlet for your chained passions?"

The sorceress craned her neck and chuckled. "Yes, I see that you find me desireable, indeed. You did not anticipate discovery. I must admit, I believed your sword was mental compensation for a physical lack of pride. It is a bit disheartening to see that I was wrong." She traced the exposures with an appreciative eye, and licked her lips. "Should my goals ever diverge from those of the Emperor, perhaps I shall use you to fill his place at my side."

She peered at his helmet, trying to see into his eyes. During these voyeuristic time crushes, Ultimecia did not disturb the people she observed. When time resumed its march, they would experience any touch or physical sensation to which she subjected them, even if she was no longer in the vicinity. That would raise suspicions about her involvement, so she was careful to restrict any touching to armor or furniture, and then only with the lightest of pressure. Garland would never know she had been here.

But she wanted to see his expression.

Ultimecia tapped her chin thoughtfully, then shook her head. It simply wasn't worth the risk.

The time crush was nearing its end. The sorceress felt the telltale shudder of time straining against her control, and she began to teleport back to her own room, but then caught sight of a small black book laying beside the computer's mouse, a little gold pen sticking out from between the pages.

She, and the book, were gone the moment before time resumed.

* * *

_12:47 pm - She has returned from her castle, and I doubt her time was peaceful. Her hair has spilled from its proud horns, wreathing her body in wisps of silver cloud. She is gleaming with sweat, and traces of blood mingle with her tattoos. How I long to witness her in battle again. _

_1:03 am - She sleeps, a succubus in respite. Her long body is cradled amidst the blankets, a smooth leg pale and exposed. How can she be so merciless even in sleep? I yearn to be the pillow embraced by her arms, held tight to her breasts. Instead I must watch, thirsting for the regard of my sweet, dark angel of time. _

_9:27 am - She lays with _him_ now, having gone to him in her lust. I hear her haunting cries, and my body aches to touch her, to wring her passion from her painted, writhing form. Her wings brush the wall in time with the headboard's rhythmic tempo; she seems innocent even whilst drenched in sin. I hunger for his blood, knowing that his death would only hinder their plans and continue the cycle anew. If I could have her, I would fling his innards to the far corners of this piecemeal world. _

_10:38 am - I watch her at her bath, envious of the water slicking the length of her perfect body. She slides the soaped cloth across her abdomen, leaving swirling trails in her wake. She tilts her head back to accept the water's kiss against her throat, and her lips part as if on a moan. My dark angel is a sensual creature, enticing even when alone. I despise the time I must spend away from her, unable to witness her effortless glory. Will I never find the courage to touch, to hold, to worship her as she deserves? I watch and I ache for her. She is made for me: I, the knight forsaken by time, and she, the goddess who governs its flows. Ultimecia, my sweet angel, have mercy on your tormented devotee!_

Ultimecia shook her head, unsure how she felt about the revelation that Garland was stalking her. On one hand, she was disturbed that her privacy was only perceived, that every minute aspect of her life was observed and recorded within this slender black volume. Her security was now effectively gone.

But another part of her was preening, relishing every iota of praise written in her honor. Garland thought she was beautiful, with a brilliant mind. He was suffering because he couldn't touch her tattooed flesh or trace the stiff lengths of her molded hair. He boiled with envy whenever the Emperor came near her. The knowledge was heady, and Ultimecia enjoyed the sense of power.

She closed the book, tapping her fingers against the soft leather cover thoughtfully. Now that she had this information, what was she supposed to do with it?

Well, the first order of business was to ensure that Garland didn't realize she knew.

"Time." Perception flipped, and the sorceress teleported herself to the computer room. Garland was crawling about on the floor, apparently in search of the book she had taken. Ultimecia smirked at his futile attempt to search behind the desk, amused by the hindrance of his helmet, and carefully placed the book between the desk and the processor on the floor. When the time crush ended, Garland would find it and think that it had simply fallen there.

Once the book was secure, Ultimecia was distracted by another image stretched across the monitor. She felt her eyes bulge at the display.

Herself, Garland, and Squall. Naked. Together.

And the boys with...appendages...of a truly frightening size.

Ultimecia stared. It wasn't the nudity or the sex that she minded, nor the idea of Squall and herself (the idea was more than a bit intriguing, truth be told). What struck her was the expression of sheer agony worn by her depicted self, the tears streaming from her tight-shut eyes. Squall looked as grim as ever, but there was a certain meaure of sadistic glee somehow visible on Garland's metal visage. In this picture, he enjoyed hurting her.

The sorceress turned her gaze on the frozen knight, feeling her heart race. The book had been written in such a way as to make his affections sound tender, if not loving, and utterly devoted. That picture, and the very fact that he had selected it from any number of artistic renditions, spoke of much darker intentions.

She stared at Garland, suddenly cold. She knew how to defeat him, should need arise to defend herself. She was a witch of matchless power, a chronomancer freed from the shackles that bound her many peers, even the god she deigned to serve.

And yet...

"So this is what fear feels like," she mumbled, rubbing her arms.


	9. Memories of a Distant Time

**Summary: **If there's one thing to cause the champions of Chaos untold grief, it's their access to cyberspace...

**Disclaimer: **Yeah, I _wish_ I owned it... Maybe then I wouldn't be up to my neck in tuition-debt!

**Queen's Quornor: **I realize that it's been awhile, but I finally got an idea for an update! I decided to further a concept I somewhat approached back in chapter 2, when I alluded to Kandi within one of Kuja's drawings. Since I'm gradually slipping more and more similarities between Dissidia-Seph and my FFVII-Seph, I figured I'd go whole-hog. Akalara and Azrael are two of my original characters, and the ones with whom I've had the most success overall. Andria is in here as well, though only in cameo. I suspect that Seph may once have been one of Cosmos' warriors, since he definitely was not evil in the beginning of the FFVII timeline and there are a number of little similarities between him and the Champions of Harmony, so I took that idea and started wondering what could possibly turn him from the light to the dark in this setting, where he (as far as I know) has no memory of, interaction with, or possession by Jenova. What I finally came up with was this. I hope you all enjoy it! Also, there are pictures of Ak and Az on Deviantart, created by the talented (and my good friend) Glaurung! The links are on my profile, if anybody's interested in getting a better idea of how they look.

Memories of a Distant Time

Memory-searching was an exhausting process. Sephiroth felt as though his head had been beaten with a sack of metal bricks, and his body ached in one slow, rolling wave. He had not seen battle this day. The swordsman had spent the past twenty-four hours wrestling with the locks on his memory, trying to coax a few more precious recollections from his forgotten past. All he had gotten this time was a single image, and nothing else.

It had been a flash of a woman, a short female with large breasts and a classically beautiful face, her lips twisted into a mischevious smirk. Her long hair had been the dark green of pine boughs, hanging loosely around her face and shoulders in a sexy tousle. Her almond-shaped eyes were heavy-lidded and veiled by long lashes, the irises a brilliant shade of crimson. Those eyes had been soft and smoky, at odds with the sly curve of her lips. She had been naked, stretched out atop a large bed with black silk sheets. Her legs were partially covered by the top sheet, and her gaze had been fixed on him, as if waiting for something.

That was all he remembered, although his heart squeezed whenever he thought of the mysterious woman and her soft eyes. Who was she? What was she to him? More importantly, had she ever appeared in any of the previous cycles? If so, whose side had she joined?

Was this memory from his original life, or a previous cycle?

Mulling over the questions stirred by this single image, Sephiroth started to walk back to his room. But he cast a cursory glance to the side, toward the computer room, and came to an abrupt halt.

Golbez was seated at the terminal, and on the screen was a file which featured Firion's picture and several text boxes.

Curiosity tugged at his senses, overriding his exhaustion, and the silver-haired man paced to a spot behind the armored mage. "What is this?" he asked.

Golbez didn't flinch. "This is a comprehensive list which Chaos keeps. It details what is known of all current pawns on both sides, as well as those who fell in previous cycles."

Sephiroth crossed his arms and leveled an inquisitive look at his peer. "How did you gain access to this database? I imagine Chaos would not share such information easily."

The thaumaturge snorted beneath his helmet. "I am adept at getting into places I am not supposed to go. I needed information, and I took steps to obtain it. That is all you need know."

The silver-haired man considered the file. In addition to Firion's picture, his physical attributes and abilities were catalogued, as well as his ties to various people on both sides of the war and a small amount of his personal history. He caught the words "rebel" and "Wild Rose" before Golbez minimized the window.

"Was there something you needed, Sephiroth?" he inquired.

The swordsman considered the question. Should he tell him about the memory? Golbez was somewhat akin to himself in that he existed on the fringe of those sworn to Chaos, with no ties or alliances to any of their fellows. They were both solitary warriors seeking something, pursuing separate goals from those of the other dark champions. As such they regarded one another with a certain respect not accorded anyone else. Golbez might wonder why he wanted to know about the nameless woman, but he would not press him.

"I would like to know if there is a woman with green hair in those files. She must be from one of the older cycles, among the fallen."

"Do you recall her name?" A rhetorical question. Nobody could remember the names of dead champions.

"I do not."

The thaumaturge hummed and clicked the search bar. "It is fortunate that our esteemed master made it possible to search for physical features as well as names," he commented, typing the words "green hair" into the field.

Sephiroth fought the urge to drum his fingers on his sleeve as the load bar slowly filled. It was a good way to search. How many green-haired women could there be? Terra was the only one currently within the ranks on either side, but surely the girl had not been the only one. The woman in his memory was unquestionably an adult female, not an inexperienced child.

"Here we are." The results popped up, and a small number of names and pictures became visible on the screen. Golbez's hand hovered over the mouse, and then he slid the chair back and got to his feet. "Would you prefer some privacy? You have little knowledge about this woman, after all."

"Stay or go, I don't care. Whoever she was, she is dead. Anything I uncover will not have much effect upon our plans." Sephiroth seated himself at the computer and brushed his hair behind the chair. Golbez stood a short distance away, but the silver-haired man ignored his prescence.

There were only a few green-haired women in the database. The first was Terra. No surprise there. Next was a pretty young lady with a darker color to her wavy tresses and grey-blue eyes. Her name was Rydia. Sephiroth considered her for a minute, then shook his head. Even if her eyes had been the correct shade, this Rydia looked too innocent to be the woman in his memory. He scrolled down, and froze.

There she was. His memory had been accurate; her hair as pine-dark and her eyes rivaled ripe cranberries in their vibrancy. A beautiful woman, she wore a dark blue suit with a black tie and thick-heeled boots. A pair of black pistols sat ready in her long-fingered hands. Around her neck was a delicate silver chain, and from it hung a tiny katana with an unusually long blade.

Masamune, rendered in miniature.

His heart suddenly pounding against his ribs, Sephiroth clicked on her file. The woman's name was Akalara Forrest, and her speciality was Hardened Sharpshooter. Chaos had listed her as carrying twin .45 magnum revolvers and a pair of kunai, but noted that she stuck with the guns for the most part.

She had been a member of Cosmos' forces.

He stared at that line, stunned. Why was he remembering her as if she was a lover, if she had fought for the goddess of harmony? He decided to read on and accessed her known background.

The more he read, the wider his eyes became.

This Akalara woman had come from the same world as himself and Cloud. The file claimed she was a combination of bodyguard and assassin, but her primary skills lay within gunplay, demolition, disguises, and sabotage. Chaos noted that she had managed to blow up one of the world fragments during the second cycle, a place known as the Sector 4 Slums, while one of his agents had been present. She had been a spy for Cosmos, disguising herself as a member of Chaos' legions to gather information and eliminated individual targets. She had been one of a group of spies and assassins secretly working for harmony, who had caused some massive headaches for Chaos' forces during the early cycles, of whom Zidane was the only member remaining. Like most of her sneaky peers, Akalara had died during the third cycle, when the dark champions had focused on annihilating them. The notes claimed that Cosmos had won the first two cycles because of them, and once the spies had been removed Chaos' forces had succeeded in killing the goddess.

Sephiroth frowned. This stirred some familiarity in the back of his mind, and a touch of anger, as if long forgotten. Why should he be upset by the death of one of Cosmos' pawns? unsettled, he scrolled further down.

Her personal ties were next. Chaos had recorded her friends and closest allies, and what those individuals were to her. The silver-haired man scanned over the first few names on the list, curious and a little suspicious.

Kandi (Cyber Amazon) - best friend, traveling partner

Zidane (Aerial Ace) - friend

Edge (Eldritch Ninja) - friend, traveling partner

Vincent Valentine (Changeling Executioner) - friend

Genesis Rhapsodos (Fallen Hero) - enemy

Azrael Forrest (Sharpened Combatant) - son

Sephiroth (Focused Blade) - lover, traveling partner

He stared at the screen. _Lover?_ This woman had been his lover? She had fought beside him? But she had been one of Cosmos' tools, not Chaos'! How could that be? He had never allowed anyone to get close to him, not even his immediate peers. How could he have been traveling alongside, much less sleeping with, one of the enemy?

Unless...

Now completely oblivious to Golbez's prescence, the stunned swordsman clicked on his own name and began reading through his profile.

_"Originally assigned to Cosmos, Sephiroth became one of mine at the start of the fourth cycle. He grew to loathe Cosmos after the loss of his woman and son."_

_Son?_

Backtracking to the previous file, Sephiroth poised the mouse over the name "Azrael Forrest", who was listed as Akalara's son. Did he really want to know?

He sat up straighter, and clicked the link.

The picture displayed a slender, sculpted young man wearing a black leather vest and pants with biker boots and studded leather gauntlets. A matching headband held back his long bangs from his eyes, which were the same striking shade of crimson as Akalara's. In his hands was a katana, a visual twin to Masamune. His face was thin and beautiful, _very familiar_, and most telling of all was the man's waist-length hair.

An exact match to Sephiroth's own, longer, mane.

Breathless, the swordsman scrolled down to Azrael's known history. He too had stood in harmony's defense, but unlike his mother he had not been an assassin. He had traveled and fought much like the other warriors in Cosmos' ranks, accompanied by his own lover, a woman named Andria Fair. He had also survived as long as the third cycle. But Azrael had perished at the hands of a man known as Bartandalus, and according to Chaos the body had been returned to the Order Sanctuary by Firion. Azrael's death had driven his parents to a vengeful attack on Orphan's Cradle, where he had been slain. Bartandalus had been killed, but Akalara had been mortally wounded. Sephiroth's heart raced as he read how he had carried his dying lover back to the Sanctuary and abandoned Cosmos when the goddess was unable to heal her. At the dawn of the fourth cycle, Sephiroth had been counted amongst Chaos' ranks.

The silver-haired man's head pulsed suddenly, and his hands flew to clutch his temples. Golbez shifted behind him, but Sephiroth was blinded with a sudden flurry of images.

Firion carrying a lifeless, torn body, handing it to him and Akalara. Her wracking sobs as her shaking fingers smoothed the blood-matted silver tresses away from their son's face. The fading heat of Azrael's body against his chest as he clutched him close, swearing vengeance, hearing his words echoed by Akalara.

His lover cradled in his arms, her lovely face painted with blood from a huge gash that stretched from her left temple to the top of her head, parting the dark green hair nearly in half with a hideous stripe of red and white. Her eyes were shut, her mouth slack. Though the blood continued to drip, it no longer bled. Her heart had ceased to beat.

Cosmos, so gold and pure, seated on the marble bench that served as her throne. Her perfect countenance was a picture of sadness and her hands were folded upon her lap. Her head bowed, a feeling of total disbelief and soul-deep agony washed over him as she quietly told him that she could do nothing for Akalara.

The darkness behind his eyelids, the damp of the Sanctuary's aquatic ground soaking into his knees, her body so heavy in his arms. A tortured, enraged scream rippling through the air, his throat raw with the force of his grief.

His elbows slammed down on the computer table as his buried his fingers in his hair, gripping the roots tight. The pain was lost in the swirl of memories and emotions. He saw only the faces of his lover and son, the two people who had mattered the most in his own world and this shattered war, the people he had protected with everything he had.

And it had not saved them.

He felt ashamed for having forgotten them, although rationally he knew it was because he had been on the losing side when they had died. Only his rage at the goddess had resurrected him for the following cycle, on the opposing side. But in his heart, the softer side he had neglected for so long, he berated himself for not remembering them, if only to fuel his anger towards the gods.

Cosmos could not heal them, no matter how he had pleaded with her.

But Chaos had ultimately been responsible for their deaths.

Abruptly he stood up, so fast the chair clattered to the floor behind him. Sephiroth curled his fists until his nails bit into his palms through the leather of his gloves, hatred and long-forgotten grief running hot through his body. The gods had stolen his family from him, and worse, they had made him _forget _they had ever existed.

_Unforgiveable._

Sephiroth closed his the files and turned around to leave. Golbez cleared his throat, causing the swordsman's glittering peridot eyes to slide his way.

"You found what you sought," he stated.

"Yes," was the only reply. He stalked past the other man, letting his feet carry him back to his room while his mind churned.

The gods. They were responsible for everything. This piecemeal world, the endless war, the loss of his memories, the destruction of everything he had ever held dear. All of it was their fault.

It was past time they received their due.

But the charade must continue, for the time being. He must continue his vendetta against Cloud, so no one suspected him. Cosmos would die a true death, and then Chaos would follow.

When he had the god of discord on his knees before him, balanced his very life upon the edge of his blade, Sephiroth would look Chaos in the eye and tell that demon exactly what he had stolen from him.

Then he would kill him, and the war would end, at long last. His family would know vengeance.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Golbez watched the silver-haired man vanish down the hall with sympathetic eyes. He had read the files over his shoulder, although the information was not new to him. Since hacking into Chaos' private files, the thaumaturge had read all of the links connected with his enemies and allies. He knew the story behind those two individuals. He knew what they had meant to Sephiroth.

He could even begin to appreciate the other man's pain.

Silent as a shadow, he went to the computer and retrieved the files. Stared at the woman and her silver-haired son.

"We all have lost so much in this war," he murmured. "Our homes, our lives, our memories. But the two of you lost more than that, I think."

Had Sephiroth continued reading, he would have discovered why Azrael had been targeted by Bartandalus in the first place. Chaos had wanted his powerful father within his ranks, and decided that the best course to obtain that result would be to remove both Akalara and Azrael from the picture, and the distance would be such that while the bodies would survive the journey back to the Order's Sanctuary, it would be far too late for Cosmos to save them. As predicted, that had led Sephiroth down a very dark path emotionally. It was not recorded how the swordsman had died in that cycle, and Chaos had likely not realized there would be another cycle afterwards, but the end result was the same. Sephiroth had become one of the dark champions, and worked towards the perpetuation of discord rather than harmony.

What might have happened, had the scheme not worked?

Golbez sighed, wondering anew at the twists of fate within this shattered world. Grief had turned Sephiroth from the light, and in turn his fury had caused him to forget that which had mattered the most.

Perhaps it might have been better if he had died alongside his lover, all those cycles ago.


End file.
